


When Life Gives You Ginger (you shag the only one that isn't)

by crapfaerie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Rubber Ducks, Slow Burn, Weasley Jumpers, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crapfaerie/pseuds/crapfaerie
Summary: When Wizengamot sentences him to four years of probation, during which he has to live with a wizarding family of their choice, Draco Malfoy knows he's doomed.When that particular wizarding family turns out to be the Weasleys, well, that's a whole other story.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. Draco Makes a Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate titles for this fic, courtesy of my boyfriend:
> 
> ϟ Keeping Up With The Weasleys/Weaselbees  
> ϟ Draco Malfoy and the Time He Got Adopted by Molly Weasley  
> ϟ Nine Carrots and a Peeled Potato ...(inspired by a line from my oneshot, [Ribbons and Bows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26594938))
> 
> Clearly, these titles are pure gold. I just can't choose one :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back by unpopular demand: me.

Draco tries not to glare at the Wizengamot official, strutting in his ugly plum robes. They weren’t even a _pure plum_ either. Stupid, self-centred bastards. Eying him up with their slimy little eyeballs, like they would like nothing more than to drag him into Azkaban in shackles. Which they'd already done, mind you.

Fuck them. Draco thinks bitterly, trying to mask his fear. Hands clammy and cold. Draco could hear his heart hammering against his chest. He was shaking all over, face steeled into a monotonous look all Malfoys had mastered. His eyes gave him away, though. They always did. 

When he moved his hands, the chains around his wrists clanged. They made a sickening sound every time they made contact with the witness box.

He flicked his gaze to the audience where, on the defence side sat only two people; Narcissa Black Malfoy and Harry James Potter. 

Mother was in full black silk. She looked drawn and tired. Ancient. They only allowed Narcissa to attend his trial to testify.  
She had been sentenced to house arrest and her wand broken. Widowed and banished from magic forever.  
Her shaky hand clutched Harry Potter’s green robes. 

Potter.

Draco didn’t understand why he decided to testify for him. Draco had been nothing but horrible to him, all those years.  
He had been so ghastly to Granger and Weasley, only because Potter had chosen them over him. Draco didn’t wonder why Potter did that, now. 

He didn’t think he was capable of maintaining friendships. Pansy and Blaise were in too deep to back out. That’s why they stuck to him. Not because he was a good friend or anything…

Their eyes met, Draco’s and Harry’s, for a split second, before prosecutor Wimbledon snapped his fingers at Draco’s face. Attention whore.

“Yes?” He says. 

“Did you,” drawls Wimbledon, smug bastard. Hadn’t a hair on his head, he. “Or did you not take the Dark Mark.”

Instead of answering verbally, Draco just pulled his sleeve up, revealing the marred skin. 

It was just the skull now. The snake had receded into it the moment Voldemort died. Draco tried to convince himself it was gone. That this was all a bad dream.  
But it was there. Alive. Slithering inside the head. Occasionally poking her head out of an eye socket to nip at the skin under his shackles. It hurt. It always did. Even after two long years of rotting in a cell.

“I have the mark.” He clenches his fists. 

Wimbledon raises his arms as if he were an orchestrator, or better yet, a disillusioned preacher during a sermon.  
Draco didn’t like to believe the man had an ounce of musical talent, big-headed oaf. Nothing very religious about him or his beer belly either. 

“There.” The man has the ugliest smile. He’s addressing the court, very much like the villain in a play who monologues his greatest achievements. “The boy is guilty. Should be put in Azkaban with the rest of them.” Put _back_ you mean. This was Draco's third trial. The first one had him put in house arrest with mother. The second had him being dragged to Azkaban with chains on his wrists and ankles. Now, two years later, Wimbledon seems to have forgotten that.

“I never said I _took_ the mark,” Draco says quietly.

Wimbledon turns a shade of puce that matches his robes. The exact shade and everything. “Who asked you, _death eater scum?_ ” The last part was hissed, of course. Wimbledon still needed the court to think he was a fair, just prosecutor, after all. 

“Let the boy speak.” An _actually_ fair and just member of the jury, Madame Archibald speaks up. The woman had been in Wizengamot since before even Grandfather Malfoy was born. She was ancient and, as a rule, no one dared defy her word.

Wimbledon made a show of stuttering and protesting, but even he, the ever insolent fool, had to give way to the ferocity that was Della Archibald. She was the only reason they were conducting a proper trial instead of just extending his sentence.

Filled with new resolve, Draco lifted his head. He didn’t turn to his Mother. He kept his eyes on Madame Archibald. Put all his energy into stopping his stammer.

“I was forced to take the Dark Mark. Physically restrained and Crucioed multiple times until I was too weak to resist.” 

He tried to sound nonchalant, but Draco’s voice cracked at the end. He lowered his head as tears of shame threatened to escape.

The scene played over and over in his head. The hungry looks Greyback kept sending him. Bellatrix's maniacal laughter and he writhed and screamed. Being shoved at Voldemort’s feet and forced to protstrate, to beg.

The days after, clutching his chest and wondering if he would ever breathe normally again. Eyes catching his wand and wondering if it would be cowardly to end himself.

They dragged him back to his chair and the rest of the session whizzed by in a blur. Mother testified, and so did Potter, but Draco didn't hear a word.

The only thing left was the verdict.

“Wizengamot hereby sentences Draco Lucius Malfoy to four years of probation, after which all magical privileges shall be returned. He shall spend his probation serving a wizarding family chosen by the jury.”

Draco caught his mother’s eye and smiled weakly as the Auror shoved him towards the gate. 

He bumped into a broad chest. “Sorry,” Draco says, offhandedly. “Didn’t mean to.”

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice was unmistakable. His tone was undecipherable.

Draco glared up at him bitterly. “Come to hark at me, have you? I’m in your life debt now. D’you want me to get on my hands and knees for it?”

“Malfoy.” Potter didn’t look angry. Only… resigned. “Just…” He ran a hand through his hair, making Draco’s mouth go dry. “Just, try not to be too much of a git to your host family, will you?”

The Auror pushed him again, and Draco glared daggers at Potter until they reached the atrium. Back to Azkaban, then.

***

Draco sputtered. “But… but-” He flailed his hands – newly freed of shackles – and tried to get his point across. “Why _them?_ ”

Across him, Madame Archibald raised a thin eyebrow. “Would you,” she says calmly, “rather stay with the MacDougal's, whom I recall your family has been in bad terms with for years, or perhaps, with the Longbottoms? Didn’t your aunt torture Mr Longbottom’s parents?” Her tone is firm, even. Stating facts, not putting him down.

Draco swallowed. One of the conditions of his host family was having a child his age. He really didn’t want to spend four years with either Morag _or_ Longbottom. 

“I really do think the Weasleys are the best choice for you,” Della says, sounding very sincere. 

He slinks deeper into his chair at mention of them. Why would they even agree when he, Draco, had been nothing but a complete arsewipe to their children?  
He’d called them blood-traitors and laughed at their financial condition, all the while being jealous of their large, happy family. He voiced the question to Madame Archibald.

She arches a thin eyebrow. “I think you know the Weasleys better than I do, Draco.”

Della Archibald reaches over the desk to squeeze his hand. 

“I am a very selfish person.” She admits. “I don’t take personal cases, but I took on yours because… you remind me of my grandson.”

Draco looks up, hand still in the woman’s surprisingly gentle grip.

“I was the one that sentenced my daughter to Azkaban.” Draco knew the story.  
Nineteen-year-old Martha Archibald cast Imperio on two muggles and forced them to kill each other while she watched. The one to cast the second Imperio was found to be her father, Luther Archibald.  
He was the one that planted the idea into her head in the first place. He killed himself before the dementors could find him.

They claimed muggles were just playthings, toys sent for wizards’ enjoyment. She spent seventeen years in Azkaban before being released and then killed soon after.

That was almost a decade ago.

“Her son, Delaney grew up in my care. I always felt guilty for sending my daughter away. Luther made me out to be a monster. Said I was taking revenge for Martha having a child out of wedlock.”

Della looks monotonous, but Draco can see the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes.

“When she was released I truly believed she was better. That everything would be alright. I trusted her to stay alone with Delaney. When I returned, only his body remained. 

Azkaban doesn’t cure people. It strips you of every good thing that’s ever been part of you. Turns you into a monster.”

She wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want that happening to you. So you see, my motive is very selfish.”

“You don’t want to have to lose your grandson again.” He words it carefully. 

“That’s right, dear. I only want what’s best for you. If not for yourself, do it to make me happy.”

For some reason, it felt like this was a play on her part, her way of convincing him to go. And it was bloody working too.

Draco looks at her warily but sees nothing but genuine concern in her face. Somehow she managed to remind him of both his mother and Professor McGonagall. It was overwhelming.

“Okay.”

She breaks into the most beautiful grin and Draco can’t help a smile of his own.  
He’s convinced he won’t survive a minute at The Burrow, and they’ll have to ship him off to the Maestroes or something. But seeing the joy on Della’s face made him want to try. 

Sixty seconds can’t be that hard, right?

“Right.” She says, still smiling. “I’ll get the paperwork sorted now. And remember I’ll be dropping in to check on from time to time. If I’m not available, it’ll have to be Wimbledon I’m afraid.”

They both grimaced at the mention of Wimbledon. Horrid man, really.

Draco gathers up whatever courage he’s managed to keep after four months of Azkaban. “Della?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“Thanks, for everything.” Draco yelps as the older woman envelop him in a crushing hug. She presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“Be brave, Draco.” She says, already turning back to the pile of paperwork on her desk. “I know you’ll find happiness.”

Happiness could be found in the darkest of places, if only one remembers to turn on the light, said Dumbledore.  
Well, if turning on the light reveals a ginger-hell then Draco’s perfectly fine with living in the dark, thank you very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading :D  
> If you liked it please comment. I'd love to hear what you think of this fic!


	2. Molly Weasley makes the best carrot cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco having a heart-to-heart with Molly because I want to get the awkwardness out asap to MAKE WAY FOR THE FALUFFF  
> Just so you know (i forgot to mention it earlier) this fic takes place just a little over two years after the War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to be a petty bitch, but this is my fic. i do what i want.

Draco’d never been to the Weasley residence before, but he knew it well enough to recognise the topsy-turvy cottage. Even from a distance, it looked so utterly _Weasley._

It was set in the outskirts of the village. Hidden within a thicket of oaks and firs that reminded Draco of the forest behind the Manor, back in Wiltshire. The sharp smell of thyme flooded his senses as Draco opened the gate. There had to be a raspberry bush somewhere, he just knew it. Most likely basking in the late summer sun. Under the creek, where moorhens were probably resting.

It hit way too close to home for Draco’s liking.

A cool breeze brushed past him, making his hair flop onto his face. Draco’s hair went just a little past his shoulders and was incessantly annoying. He made a mental note to cut it sometime.

In the meantime, he should probably work on an escape plan before he got spotted by any redheads. Really, he’d be doing both parties a favour by leaving!

Just as he was about to drag himself and his trunk back to Azkaban, Molly Weasely appeared. She was holding a staggering amount of shopping bags.

Chattering amicably, and with her own hoard of shopping bags, followed Weaslette. Er… Ginevra.

It was obvious they had spotted him. 

Had Draco a wand he would have Disapparated right there and then. Fuck his pride. But since he hadn’t, he was forced to smile when Mrs Weasley greeted him. 

“Right,” he faked a cheery tone. “Thank you for having me, Mrs Weasley. I’m very grateful.” Don’t run away. Don’t run away.

Girl Weasley… ahem… Ginevra was totally not buying it. Merlin, the woman was openly glaring daggers at him. He dares say Draco wanted to shrink into his black robes. But he relented. Because he was a Malfoy.

The matriarch seemed to be humoured enough. “None of that.” She tuts. “Call me Molly, dear.” Her voice is so _warm_ and _sincere_ and _nice_. It was horrifying. Draco certainly didn’t deserve that sort of sentiment. 

Then she instructs _Ginny_ to hand over her shopping to Draco. Really, the woman looks all too pleased to dump it all on him. Though, Draco can’t say she was smiling when Molly told her to take Draco’s trunk upstairs if the shout of "but _mum!_ ” was anything to speak of.

Draco followed the red-headed woman down the path, all the while trying not to collapse under the weight of Ginny’s shopping. The cheating bint was Levitating his trunk, and therefore had no trouble of the sort. 

Draco decided he hated it here already.

 _For Della_. He reminded himself. _For Della_.

While the thicket and the sound of running water and such reminded him of his home, the infamous Burrow did nothing of the sort.

The building was alright enough, he supposed. White walls and a red-brick roof. _To match their own heads_ , Draco’s brain supplied. The windows were rounded, and at least two vines were running up the walls, giving the place a rustic, Italian feel. It, like the forest around it, was revelling in end-of-summer warmth.

It was different from the Manor but beautiful in a wholly different way.

Felt like a home, it did.

“Well, Draco, I’ll just show you to your room then,” Mrs Weasley put her bags in the spacious kitchen. She waddled up the stairs and Draco followed meekly, too aware of Ginevra glaring a hole at the back of his head to relax.

The studious Weasley, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by tomes, scowled at him as he passed by. None of the other gingers seemed to be around. Thank Merlin for tiny miracles.

His trunk followed them, floating close to the ground. It occasionally kicked him in the shins. Draco gritted his teeth and ignored it.

Mrs Weasley opened a door on the third floor. 

It was a medium-sized room with two beds on either side. One half of the room was covered from head to toe in bright orange Chudley Cannons memorabilia. Even on the bloody _ceiling._

The other side of the room was tamer. A single poster of the Weird Sisters was hung above the bed. Well, their faces were replaced with those of the seven Weasley siblings, and Potter right in the middle. 

“You can choose any bed, dear. Ron doesn’t stay here anymore.”

Mrs Weasley seemed to be leaving, so Draco pulled out whatever courage he had inside him and stopped her.

“Please, Mrs Weasley.” He said before he could chicken out. “I have to know. Why did you agree to let me stay? I mean, its obvious none of your children are happy about it. It’s horrible really, they don’t deserve to have to suffer after the war. They shouldn’t have to put up with my sorry arse…”

His rambling was cut short by a comforting hand on his shoulder. Molly Weasley stared at him with kind brown eyes.

“Sit down here,” she leads him to sit on the thankfully orange-free bed. “Listen here, Draco. And listen carefully, okay?”

He nods, trying to hold in a panic attack. 

“I believe everyone deserves a second chance.” Says Molly Weasley. “Yes, even the worst of people should be allowed to better themselves. And I don’t think you fall into the ‘worst’ category.”

Her voice is soft, but stern. She sits next to him, not quite touching. Molly Weasley is a comforting presence, though.

“But I do,” Draco whispers. “I deserve to be hated. I earned it. By bullying _your_ children. I called Granger a… I called her horrible things. I’m bigoted and a Death Eater and I…”

Molly Weasley puts an arm around him. He stiffens at first but feels himself relax into her warm grip. 

“Shh… Calm down.” Her steady voice is comforting. It pulls him back to reality. 

“You're right. What you did cannot be excused. You did earn the hate.” Every sentence made him want to bury himself six feet under. “You’ve been punished for what you have done.” _But it wasn’t enough,_ Draco’s traitorous brain reminded him. 

“The war is over. It's been done with for a while now. We've finished our mourning and moved on - well, most of us have. " She smiled apologetically "We've grown. All of us. And I believe so have you. What matters is that you’ve realized your mistakes. And that you’re trying to better yourself. Right?”

Draco nodded fervently. Mrs Weasley shot him a warm smile.

“Good.” And somehow that single word was worth more than all the praise he’d ever received. “If you’ve managed to earn dislike, you can earn everyone’s love too. I want to help you learn from your mistakes and grow up to be a better person.”

Draco finally found his voice. “You really think I can do that?”

“Of course you can! Anyone can! provided they can persevere. It won’t be easy, but we’ll be here for you, okay?”

“But what if I keep going back and saying the things I’ve been saying. I still find myself thinking the bigoted things my father drilled into me and it makes me feel so awful…”

She listens to the end, bless Molly’s soul. 

“You can't expect to become a saint as soon as you find out you're on the wrong path. Think about this;

If you're on a trip, and you take the wrong road, does finding out you’re on the wrong road automatically take you to the right road?”

Draco shakes his head.

“You need to retrace your steps, meet every person you’ve met once more and walked past every building. Go back to the crossroad, back to the beginning. Then, you have to choose a path for yourself.”

“Okay… I’ll try.” Now he had _two_ promises to hold up. 

Molly Weasley takes her to leave, but not before telling him to get some rest. “You can come down to the kitchens to help me out in the afternoon.” She’d said.

Draco flopped on the bed as soon as she closed the door. He didn’t even bother taking his robes off. Just toed off his shoes and socks.

He curled up on the bed, far too used to taking up minimal space back at his cell.  
This place was nothing like his cell, obviously. For some reason, the pillows smelled like treacle tart. It was a welcome smell, and Draco found himself burying his nose deep into it. 

It was funny how just two years of Azkaban had left him so disjointed. Melin, Sirius Black spent _twelve_ whole years there and came out fine. Draco, on the other hand, could hardly speak a word without bursting into tears. All his emotions were in shambles. He found himself flinching every time someone came near. The Dementors weren’t there anymore, but he still relived every bad thing he’d ever done. Soaked in guilt and sweat every night until he passed out. A part of him knew he deserved it. But that didn’t mean he still didn’t hate it.

The sound of leaves rustling outside lulled him into a dreamless sleep. Better, perhaps, than what you get from the potion. And believe Draco when he says he’s had plenty of those the last few years.

***

Draco was still sleepy when he trudged down the staircase. Well, more _emotionally exhausted_ than sleepy, but still. Mrs Weasley had asked him to help out. And since he was so susceptible to doing favours for matronly figures, he just had to help out. 

… right after he fixed his birds-nest of a hair. 

Molly was in the kitchen. She had at least two kettles running on the large stove. The ginger-haired woman was humming what Draco recognized to be Celestina Warbeck’s A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.

She was clearly in her element, twirling around to put her meat in one pot and seasoning the other. Molly turned to put something in the freezer when she caught Draco loitering near the entrance.

“Anything the matter, dear?” She asks, already turning back to her stew.

Draco felt heat creep up his cheeks. “Actually, I… You said I could help?”

Mrs Weasley turned back to him. This time, she had a handful of carrots. “Can you cut these for me? I can’t move from the stove for a while and if we want carrot cake we must have carrots, right?”

Draco nodded and found himself a knife. 

The carrots had a leathery texture. Draco always though they all came smooth and round. They also had these long, green stalks protruding from their heads. Perhaps this was a different type of carrot. He tried to push the knife into it, but the dratted vegetable kept rolling away. Draco held onto one end of the carrot and pressed the knife into it. Yes! Finally. 

It felt a bit like cutting dragon liver if he was being honest. A bit more orange, and with less blood. 

“How thick do you want the slices, Mrs Weasley?”

“Molly, please. And just thin enough you can still taste the crunch if you would. Ron doesn’t like it when they're too thick.” 

They fell into a rather comfortable pace, with Draco chopping and Molly stirring. The only sounds were of the knife hitting the cutting board and the bubble of the pots. Draco had to brush his hair out of his face multiple times.

Then the Floo flared. “Oh, that must be Arthur. Won't be a while now,” she patted his shoulder before rushing out.

Draco went back to chopping. He only had a couple more carrots left. It was calming, to say the least, this chopping of carrot. It reminded him dearly of potions class. Something familiar he could hold on to.

“Malfoy.”

Draco looked up to meet the striking green eyes of one Harry Potter. Of course, he should have expected the man to be here. Potter was practically a Weasley, even without his hanky panky with Weaslette. Ginevra. 

“Potter.” Draco decided to play it cool. “Fancy seeing you here.” Yup. He was playing it cool. Definitely not raking his eyes over Potter’s physique. He just so happened to notice that Potter was wearing the ugliest purple shirt ever. Play it cool. Play it cool. _Was that Barny the Fruitbat?_

Potter shrugged in lieu of a response. Not going to give Draco the pleasure of a banter, eh?

“I didn’t know you supported the Ballycastle Bats. Or is it perhaps the Butterbeer that got you so hooked?”

To his surprise, Potter actually laughed. “Ginny got me this shirt. Said she’d hex my balls off if I didn’t wear it.”

Of course she did. “Well, it suits you just fine, Potter.”

“Malfoy…” Potter says, suddenly. “Are you cutting carrots?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “No, I’m chopping strawberries. Honestly, Potter, maybe its time you got yourself some new glasses.”

“-No, I mean. Did you _peel_ them before you…”

His eyed widened. Draco could hear sirens blaring in his head. Oh, Merlin, he’d messed up already! “You have to peel them?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” Potter whispered back, awfully close. “Otherwise they taste really bitter when baked.”

“But I’ve already cut the all,” Draco said woefully. He looked up to find Potter had vanished. Probably gone to tell Weasel so they could laugh- “Ack!”

Potter was standing right next to him. “When did you get here?” Draco demanded. He wasn’t going to admit Potter scared the living daylights out of him.

He was grinning like anything, the bastard. “When did you get so flinchy?” he said instead. Potter wasn't saying it to be _mean_ or anything, but Draco still felt a pang echo in his chest.

Draco shrugged. Azkaban tends to do that. Not that Potter would know.

Draco watched as Potter cast a spell, and the sides of the carrots peeled away. They even dropped into the waste bucket!

“Er… Thanks, I guess.” He mumbled, pushing his annoying locks off his eyes.

“Wait here.” Said Potter. “I’ll be right back.”

Draco stared after him, puzzled.

True to his word, Potter came back. This time, he was holding a bright green ribbon.

“What the bloody fuck is that?” So much for playing it cool.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter said softly, going around him and pulling his hair into a knot. Draco felt the ribbon being tied securely around his hair.

“Oh.”

"Yes." Potter laughed again. "Oh." Draco felt a bout of unwelcome warmth bubble in his chest. Oh, Merlin. He thought he’d gotten over that stupid crush years ago.

“Harry!” Molly Weasley pulled Potter into her chest, effectively depriving him of oxygen. Potter looked utterly squashed by the time she let go. “Here to help out?” She asks, eyes twinkling.

Potter grins widely. “I can help make the carrot cake?” 

“Only if you promise not to eat any batter.” Molly admonishes him. “Draco. You can keep an eye on the little devil.”

And that was how Draco found himself ‘keeping an eye on Potter’ as he stirred the batter. Potter and Mrs Weasley were belting out Warbeck’s songs along with the radio. 

“Accio Christmas, we've waited so long…” Mrs Weasley bobbed her head from side to side.

Potter finished off for her, very much off-key. “-to summon your magic with a Christmas song!”

Batter splashed on the floor as Potter and Molly danced around. Draco yelped when Potter took his hand and twirled him around. He’d been more than okay just enjoying the scene from afar. “Come on, Malfoy. Sing with us! Accio Christmas…”

And for some reason, Draco did. “Come bring out the joy…”

“Accio Christmas every girl and boy.” Mrs Weasley and Potter sang in chorus. Potter spun him around a couple more times. Mrs Weasley shook her hands from side to side. They were laughing, having fun.

Draco felt the weight on his chest easing a little. He was _dancing_. With Potter! Making friends with him, perhaps? Was this how making amends felt?

“Mum have you seen…” The music stopped dramatically when Ginny Weasley walked in. Draco froze, eyes wide as the girl turned hateful eyes at him. 

“You're _dancing_ with him?”

Potter’s hands, which Draco didn’t realize were on his waist, flailed up as he tried to explain himself. “Gin, I-“

“I knew mum would forgive him, but _you,_ Harry? Did you forget what he did?” Girl Weasley had tears shining in her eyes. She turned around, like a blood-red tornado, and stalked out. Her red hair seemed like it was rising with every angry step that she took. Potter shot Draco an apologetic look before running after his girlfriend. 

The couple went outside, but Draco could see from their animated gestures that it wasn’t just a lover’s quarrel.

“I'm sorry,” He told Molly. “I'm causing problems in your family by staying here.”

Draco didn’t wait for any comforting words. He scurried up the stairs and locked himself in Weasel’s old room. 

So much for making amends.

Who was he to hope he could become better?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can establish by now that Draco has a weak spot for motherly figures :)  
> And dw. Gin is my girl and she is gonna come around soon.  
> What do you guys think of Harry?  
> Also Draco's POV is harder to write than I thought. I ended up with an absolute disaster of a kid lmao.  
> also I apologize for the carrot paragraphs. my inner housewife was showing :D
> 
> Tell me what you guys think?


End file.
